


I wanna hold your hand

by tsunkiku



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, super sappy im sorry, vldpositivityday2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13849740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunkiku/pseuds/tsunkiku
Summary: Keith has had enough of staring at Shiro longingly from across the quad; tonight, he's going to tell him.Well, maybe he'll sneak in a few shots of vodka in the bathroom first, but he's definitely going to go for it this time!





	I wanna hold your hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettyshiroic (dinosuns)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosuns/gifts).



> This is my contribution for vld positivity day for the amazingly talented and kind @kcgane. i don’t even know where to begin to explain the depths of the creativity and talent this lovely lady has and if you haven’t already please take a look at all of her music and writing on her ao3! (links on her tumblr profile)

With the two of them, alone now, on the empty plastic seating around the football field, Keith swallowed another gulp of beer.

Shiro sighed as he sat back, groaning softly with the satisfaction that came with stretching as he looked up at the sky above them. The night, painted with stars where the yellow glow of human habitation smeared into black.

“Just you me and now, I guess.”

Keith tried to mumble an agreement ( _say something funny, Keith, witty, endearing, anything_ ) but instead all that came out was a half a ‘yeah’, and half a burp mangled in infancy by the slap of his palm against his mouth. Fuck! Why was he such a mess? Why now?

Why, when they were finally alone, when he finally had liquid courage thumping in his chest, was he losing his cool? All that shit about ‘remaining calm and conscientious under pressure’ he’d put on his college application now felt doubly like the garbled nonsense he’d thought it was when he’d wrote it.

It didn’t matter what others around him said; that he _was_ calm under pressure, that he _was_ good at handling difficult situations without breaking a sweat. That he _was_ confident, self assured, determined. It didn’t matter that they said he was always guilty of underselling himself.

God, right now, at this moment, when the world hinged on a bead of condensation travelling over the peaks of Shiro’s knuckles gripped around the beer bottle…

Ugh.

Every time he tried to think of something to say, to fumble through the awkwardness settling like low hanging cloud around them, his eyes and his mind just drifted to him.

Little things. Things that he hadn’t quite noticed before, from afar, or from their casual, platonic interactions up until now.

The shape of his fingers, the coiled strength that settled in the muscles of his hands, waiting.

The topography of the veins on his bicep, maps begging to be travelled.

The jut of his collarbones, his bob of his throat with every swallow, each breath a marvel.

Keith couldn’t stop thinking about how soft the hair behind his ears looked, and how much he wanted to touch him there, and so many other secret and private places that he was sure Shrio permitted no one else.

That was the thing though, wasn’t it? Shiro never showed interest in anyone. As far as Keith knew, of course: who was he to speculate into Shiro’s private life? but… the past few weeks they had spent so much time together, and Keith had ravenously noted every interaction Shiro shared with a benevolently smiling cheerleader. Their hands would sometimes grasp for his arm while they shared a joke, and Shiro would always politely retract himself, a calculated slowness that wasn’t quite like revulsion; just extraction.

Was it reading into things too much to acknowledge that it was Shiro himself that clapped his shoulder whenever Keith made him laugh? He never quite forgot the weight of his hand there. In it’s absence Keith felt it, hours later, curled up in bed underneath the blankets with a pillow clutched against his chest, heart bursting and blooming in his throat.

So what if it was reading too much into it? So what if this was all a misunderstanding? So what if he was wrong, and this was going to snap his shivering heart in two, and Shiro didn’t feel the same way? So what? If he didn’t say it now, then it was going to all spill out at some other time which was much more inconvenient for them both.

Better now than with an audience.

Keith glanced over at his friend, just to check if he was physically recoiling from his embarrassing attempt at human interaction, but Shiro appeared to be transfixed on the sky above. As Keith watched, Shiro took another drink, and he drank in the sight of the bottleneck pressing against his yielding lips with unguarded hunger.

He began to speak before he could stop himself; the syllable just tumbled out. Too late to stuff it back in, Keith frantically gathered his thoughts for something to say, anything. “I-.. I hope everyone got home alright. Y’know?”

Keith made sure he had turned his gaze back toward the football field by the time Shiro’s eyes found him again. He wondered what expression he might see on his face if only he could turn back around quick enough to catch the other off guard; how did Shiro look at him when he knew Keith wasn’t watching?

God, he wanted to know so badly it felt like pins and needles that wouldn’t abate no matter how much he fidgeted.

There was a pause before Shiro replied, preceded by the sound of him taking another drink. A gulp, his perfect lips smacking against glass. _Shit._

“We walked Katie almost to her door, remember? I’ve told everyone to text me when they get in.”

Why had he hesitated? What was he thinking about it? Probably mentally cataloguing every one of their friends and their routes home, calculating the obstacles before them and the likelihood of their safety, and whether they ought to call one or more and check. Shiro was like that, a natural leader. He cared so much about everyone, was always the first person to offer help in any situation, no matter what the problem was.

Another silence gathered between them. At the beginning, Keith had cherished the safety their quiet offered; he didn’t need to try, not with Shiro, and silence was never awkward, just another aspect of the comfortable shared space between them. Lately, though, he’d come to resent it. There was so much he wanted to fill it with. So many words. So many proclamations.

Maybe he should whisper it, barely audible, then they could both pretend Shiro hadn’t heard. Maybe he should scream it, and then Shiro would know just much he felt it; too much, too big, too many words for his voice to contain in stuttered syllables.

Keith just wished he knew what was best. Shiro would know. If he asked him for advice, Shiro would do like he always did and smile gently and attend to his every concern with keen attention. What was the problem? How was it making him feel? How could he help? Methodically and calmly he would straighten out Keith’s frantic mind with a fluency that always caught Keith off guard. He would do anything just to… just to have five seconds of being with him, really being with him, whatever that meant. To touch him as more than a friend. To look at him unguarded, uninhibited. To breathe him in, to hold his hand, to just… damn it.

Three gulps of vodka wasn’t enough. Ten wouldn’t have been enough. He’d drank with everyone else, of course, but the extra gasping shots he’d downed in the bathroom had been secret. Unfortunately, the night had worn on, and on, and there had never been the perfect moment. Even at the height of his inebriation, Keith hadn’t dared broach this subject, not with someone else there, and now that they were finally alone he could already feel the buzz wearing off.

Now it was nerves alone making his head spin, his feet feel heavy. Maybe he'd drink some more once he got home and send him a text? Or would that be worse?  
  
There was the shift of movement behind him, and Keith felt his stomach fold inward, his only chance slipping out between his fingers, but all the same he took a deep breath and resigned himself to it. They would head home, and Shiro would part from him without a second glance, never knowing how Keith longed to look over his shoulder, fists curled at his side in resistance.

What had he been thinking, even considering this in the first place?

“Keith, you…”

Shiro's touch was tentative, at first, usual easy confidence seeming to stumble, before his hand settled on his shoulder. His fingers felt warm where they brushed the skin on the back of his neck.

The whole world snapped it’s tethers to Shiro’s careful fingers.    
  
What was happening?    
  
_ Was _ this happening? 

Keith didn’t dare to breathe, every muscle rigid as he tried to process what was happening. There had been a note in Shiro’s voice that was unknown to him, foreign and lovely. His heart felt pinned to the sound of it. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know what it meant; maybe it was nothing at all like he thought and this was just another facet of platonic tenderness that Shiro was revealing to him, but part of him zealously clung to the small chance that it could be  _ something _ .  
  
But then, it was ending, Shiro’s hand slowly pulling away, and only thing did Keith realise that for more than a few seconds he’d been sat silent and frozen while Shiro had waited for a response. There was a new quality in Shiro’s voice when he spoke next, something that hurt. “Keith…”   


The hurt was unacceptable. Keith couldn’t stomach it! No matter what he felt, no matter how much of a pathetic loser he was being about avoiding his feelings, nothing was worth hearing Shiro hurt like that, no matter the reason!

Keith sprang to his feet, surprisingly balanced despite the world immediately swaying on it’s sides around him. He whipped around to face Shiro, the other flinching backwards with the shock written plainly across his face. Whatever he thought the response would be to what he’d done and what he’d said, Shiro clearly hadn’t accounted to Keith leaping up and turning flush to face him directly. 

Out in the chilly air, Shiro’s bronzed cheeks were rosy, each puff of breath curling from his lips in a vapor. What the hell were they thinking, sitting outside here in the middle of winter? Keith had never considered how ridiculous an idea it was suggesting to come here at the time, and he was only now also considering how Shiro had never objected.

It was now or never. He had Shiro in his palm, and if he didn’t say it now, Keith knew he never could ever again. So, he steeled himself, took a breath. Quick and painless. Like a band aid. He could pull this off, tear the words out of himself so he wouldn’t have to carry them around anymore like a lead weight, and even if it went badly, it would feel better. It would.   
  
Even if Shiro hated him.   
  
Even if Shiro didn’t like him back.   
  
Even if Shiro calmly and kindly extracted himself from him like he did with those cheerleaders, pity in his eyes.   
  
_Oh god, no._  
  
“I… I have something I gotta say!”  
  
Another breath, empty air, and the words failed to come. Shiro peered up at him expectantly, his expression struggling to settle on one singular emotion, instead morphing in between confusion and trepidation. Keith squeezed his hands into fists at his side, inhaling another deep lungfull of night air, as if that would help, as if it would somehow lend him the clarity to see the transparent solution to this awful mistake.   
  
No, he was cool. He had to think about something else, something other than Shiro’s depthless grey eyes pinning him against the sky. If he looked at them, thought about them, then he wouldn’t be able to function. He had to untangle his thoughts, and fast, before he tripped up over them and crushed this opportunity completely.  


“A-are you listening?”

Shiro's confusion visibly multiplied by five.   
  
He nodded, hesitantly.   
  
“Yeah..?” 

_ Fucking hell.  _   
  
Shiro fidgeted, his fingers worrying absently at the peeling label of his beer bottle, though he didn’t look away from Keith’s face, even for a moment. That unrelenting stare, yielding nothing, confronting Keith with the thousand myriad emotions he desperately wanted to see, but didn’t believe he witnessing. It was the alcohol, surely, because there was no way someone like Shiro would ever look at someone like him like that. It didn’t matter if he was the top of his class, it didn’t matter that Shiro was always there by his side, it didn’t matter that Shiro told him that  _ he _ mattered; some little part of Keith almost felt like he wanted to doubt it. 

These things that he felt were so huge that he was almost afraid their bulk would crush them both if he ever breathed life into them.

He couldn’t do this to him, to them. Their friendship mattered too much; Shiro’s place in his life was far too essential to squander. Keith could feel his resolve crumble to dust somewhere in the pit of his stomach. 

Stupid. This whole thing had been stupid, stupid,  _ stupid _ . 

Even though he hadn’t said anything, the look on his face had to be enough. Shiro would know, if he didn’t already, or he’d guess, and it’d all come out somehow. Lance would probably be jealous as all hell that Keith got the chance to hang out alone with Shiro, like he frequently was, and would pester the both of them about it, and the silence would be telling. Keith hated that the most. That tomorrow, things might be awkward.  


“Keith..”   
  
The pity in that single word was a needle in his chest.    
  
Nope. Enough.    
  
Keith turned away, too fast, his feet skidding on damp concrete as he made a move towards the steps of the stands, but Shiro was quick too. Before he had time to form a thought Shiro’s hand had snatched at his own, rescuing him from a trip down onto his ass and steadying his teetering balance.    
  
God, he’d almost fallen face first onto the bleachers. What a disaster that would have been, of a greater magnitude than this night already was.    
  
Keith only noticed that Shiro had failed to let go of his hand, when he turned to thank him, and saw their fingers still tightly tangled together. It took every ounce of self control he could muster not to gawk at the sight of it; his hand fitting perfectly inside Shiro’s, their grasp nestled together like pieces of a puzzle. Clicking into place, at last.    


He couldn’t speak. Tried to, even mumbled something, but no words came out. He tugged, once, subconsciously testing whether this was real and not some dream, but Shiro’s grip didn’t relent. If anything, it tightened.    
  
“You can say it. Whatever it is.” Everything about Shiro was earnest. His eyes, his grip on his hand. Keith didn’t dare move or think, even breathing felt like a transgression into the sacred space of whatever Shiro was trying to get across. Those grey eyes begged him to listen, and Keith couldn’t have ignored their call even if he’d wanted to.    


So he waited as a second passed, and then another, and Shiro seemed to second guess himself. The grip on his hand only grew tighter. Keith’s heart felt like it was strung up with tightening string, and every silent moment constricted his panic. Was there fear in those eyes? Anxiety? Those feelings in Shiro were so rare and felt so private that even Keith in his insecurity knew that whatever this confession on the tip of Shiro’s tongue was, it was intimate. That only multiplied Keith’s hysteria. It was was an effort to stop his lips from moving, from mouthing the words he was dying to hear from Shiro’s lips, even as he scolded himself for daring to actually think he was going to hear them.   
  
_I like you._ That was all he needed. That was all he wanted to hear, and all he'd wanted to say, and of course it was typical that neither of them could find the courage to get on with things and spit it out.   
  
What did come, eventually, was so much more. Every syllable a precious arc that Keith knew he would cherish forever, each perfect movement of it on Shiro’s lips as he watched transfixed while his wildest imagination unfolded before him.   
  
“I’d cross the universe for the chance to listen to what you had to say. And..” _And?_ There was more? This was already so much, more than Keith had ever allowed himself to really expect. Keith swallowed the joy bubbling in his throat and focused on trying to remember to breathe, waiting impatiently for the rest. Did Shiro know that he had his heart teetering on a knife edge?   
  
By the look on Shiro’s face, it was suddenly abundantly clear that Shiro was wondering the very same thing about him.   
  


“And to hold your hand, like this. I mean, I’ve wanted to, for a while. A really long time. I like you.”    
  
There it was.

Real. It was real. Shiro liked him back. Shiro wanted him back. Shiro was holding his hand and saying these things to him, unequivocally confessing his affection so that there could be no misinterpretation.    
  
He was so transfixed by it that he forgot to answer out loud, staring dumbly at Shiro’s hand holding his own until the man spoke, nervously prodding for a response. “Keith?” He squeezed his hand, and Keith could have sworn he felt the same gesture in his chest as his heart swelled. 

  
Fucking oblivious and hopeless, the both of them. This was ridiculous. Had everyone known, had everyone else seen it, from the very beginning? Now all Keith could think of was every little gesture or word or look he’d once doubted, and seeing them in a totally new light. Shiro’s attentiveness, his deliberate touches, his morning texts and his goodnight phonecalls. Even his own feelings made more sense now, like the whole world had been brought out of blurry focus, dragged into a new and wonderful light. He had been wrong to doubt himself. He had been wrong to doubt Shiro. From the beginning, he’d been by his side, and he always would be.    
  
“Me too.”   
  


“That’s good, since, well, we’re doing it. Holding hands.” Shiro’s soft chuckle was the sweetest music Keith had ever heard. “Not even first base and I was this nervous. Gosh, what are we like, huh?”  
  
Keith tried to laugh, he really did, but all that came out was a breathless puff of air that curled in tendrils in front of his face. It rose twisted in with the mist of Shiro’s breath until both evaporated into the night. He hadn’t realised just how cold he was until now, as if the warmth of Shiro next to him suddenly lit a beacon that beseeched him to seek it out.    
  
Damn it, he’d done enough resisting to last his entire life. Keith yielded control of his muscles, sinking against the solid weight of Shiro’s body at his side. Shiro responded almost habitually, nudging back against his shoulder; Shiro’s silent and playful displays of affection, secret and completely his.    
  
Eventually, he managed to speak, (“Yeah,” he’d muttered, pliant) even though he knew there was no need to. They could have sat like this for hours, and Keith would only have been able to think about the texture of Shiro’s palm flush against his own. Truthfully, no matter how cold it was getting, he wanted to remain here for hours. The emptiness of their comfortable silence was like stepping into a warm bath; he sank in deep, wreathing himself in it. Being without Shiro’s touch now would feel like an irretrievable loss until the moment he got to claim it for himself all over again.  
  
Some time did pass, until Shiro finally spoke again, and Keith knew that he felt the same way. He felt it, in the way Shiro had huddled nearer when Keith had shivered once, the grip on his hand tightening, and dipped his face closer.    
  
“‘Nother beer?”  
  
Oh yeah. They’d come out here to drink. Funny how easily Keith had forgotten those pretenses as if there had ever been any need for them. This was, after all, coming so naturally to the both of them that it almost felt like it had been the way it always was.    
  
“I guess why not?”   
  
Keith sighed, body going limp with relief, and sank back against the bleachers. The sky was still the same; whatever stars had aligned to place Shiro’s hand in his were hidden elsewhere, between them, within them. This couldn’t be real, this had to be a dream, but the warmth of Shiro beside him grounded him firmly in reality, as well as the steady grip of their fingers entwined together. Every breath filled him with a glow, as if the very air around them was turning iridescent. Maybe it was the alcohol, finally getting to him.    
  
Or maybe it was Shiro. Maybe that was what holding his hand felt like. A world where the stars were closer, and everything felt fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> awful college au inspired partly by across the universe (the movie, please watch it) and the song of the same name.  
> i write keith as a awkward mess and shiro as a Softe gentleman and I'm valid.  
> i haven't written anything in a very long time because i've been extremely sick the past several weeks but i did my best. i hope that sunny especially likes it!


End file.
